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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25913488">Lightning In A Bottle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsteve/pseuds/peachsteve'>peachsteve</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Shameless Smut, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock's Coat, Sorry Not Sorry, The Author Regrets Nothing, as usual, is treated badly im sorry coat, ish, just a whole lot of sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:13:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25913488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsteve/pseuds/peachsteve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sherlock, are you mad?” as he looked back up the corridor, silhouettes of people flitting back and forth in the office clearly visible through the frosted glass. </p><p>“Yes, quite possibly, but do hurry up,” Sherlock said, taking John by the arm and pulling him inside, slamming the door shut behind them and sliding the lock to occupied…</p><p>a/n this is pure gratuitous smut, you have been warned</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lightning In A Bottle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heyo! Clearly, this is my first fic for this fandom, my first fic in ages generally, so please let me know what you thought. Also I am aware they are probably not at all in character I finished watching bbc sherlock like 2 weeks ago, watched the rdj films straight after and am now reading acd sherlock, as well as consuming what is probably an unhealthy amount of fic from all different versions so, please excuse that, it’s just a bit of fun!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“In here,” Sherlock said, shoving open the door to the bathroom just down the hall from Lestrade’s office. </p><p>John stared at him for a beat, with an exclamation of “Sherlock, are you mad?” as he looked back up the corridor, silhouettes of people flitting back and forth in the office clearly visible through the frosted glass. </p><p>“Yes, quite possibly, but do hurry up,” Sherlock said, taking John by the arm and pulling him inside, slamming the door shut behind them and sliding the lock to occupied. </p><p>“We’ll get caught Sherlock, this is Scotland Yard not some back street public toilet, it’s a terrible idea I think we should just-”</p><p>“Oh please, John, look around you. Nobody uses this place, the staff toilets on the lower floors are much more convenient when entering or leaving the building and we have at least thirty minutes until the change of shift and frankly,” said Sherlock in a rush, breath just tipping into that soft hitched range of arousal, “I cannot wait another minute to get my hands on you.”</p><p>With that said, he finally brought their mouths together, letting his hands roam free over John, down his arms, over his back, coming to rest for mere moments at the base of his skull.</p><p>“Fine,” said John, panting, as they broke apart for air, “fine, have it your way.”</p><p>Crowding him up against the sink, John pressed against him, trapping one of Sherlock’s thighs between his own and snaking a hand up to the base of his skull, fingers tangling in soft curls and pulling, just slightly, just enough to have synapses firing sensation down to his cock, rapidly filling at the friction of their clothes, the slick drag of their lips moving against one another. </p><p>John tugged again, harder this time, tilting his head back further to find an angle he liked, causing Sherlock’s mouth to part open. Wasting no time in turning the kiss filthy, Sherlock thrust against John’s leg, just enough to take the edge off, a choked sound sticking in his throat at the sensation.</p><p>John, catching on to what he was doing, caught his hips with both hands, pressing him down against the sink, hard enough to have it digging into his back, the pain only heightening the waves of input coursing through him. </p><p>“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, voice low, dangerous, leaving Sherlock with the overwhelming urge to submit, to give him everything. Instead, he pushed back, John’s hands digging into him, hard enough that pink marks were beginning to form on his skin, no doubt they would, in turn, become bruises. </p><p>“Turn around.”</p><p>His tone booked no argument, and, given that if he played his cards right he was about to get what he’d been angling for all afternoon, Sherlock stilled, levelled him with as haughty a look as he could manage with his hair mussed, lips slick with spit and skin beginning to tinge pink from heat, replied, “No.”</p><p>John stared back, gaze an electric current on his skin, extracting a blush from him that grew the more he tried to fight it. </p><p>John cocked his head to the side, reaching a hand up to trail down the side of Sherlock’s face. “Supplies?” he asked. </p><p>I love you, thought Sherlock, as he struggled out, “left inside pocket.”</p><p>In a whirl of motion that left him dizzy Sherlock was spun round, coat removed from him and, necessities extracted, discarded on the bathroom floor. </p><p>Letting out a noise of consternation he attempted to twist round, but John’s arms held him tight, one wrapped round his chest, the other sliding down to grapple at Sherlock’s belt. After a minute of fumbling, he managed to get it off one handed, unzipping and pulling at his trousers enough to get them down over the swell of his cheeks and no more, trapping him as they stuck against his thighs. </p><p>“This is what you get for being a tease all day,” John said as he let one hand dance over skin, nearing yet never connecting with the place he truly needed him. Rationally Sherlock knew he could just remove one hand from where it was braced against the sink, touch himself, but he ignored the impulse in favour of focussing on the fact John had just removed his hands entirely, the sound of clothes rustling, a packet opening.</p><p>The tip of a cool finger pressing at his hole took him off guard, cock twitching, budding precome, a startled moan ripped from his throat. “Oh, God,” he whined, trying to push back, stuck fast between the sink and John’s body. “Oh, <em>God</em>.”</p><p>“Shh, baby,” John said, massaging gently at the puckered skin, “don’t want the whole of the yard hearing this, do you? Don’t want them to come in and find us here, you bent over the sink while I finger your arse, do you?”</p><p>Sherlock was saved responding by the press of a finger inside him, blunt and thick and not nearly enough. John’s other hand crept round him again, finally, <em>finally</em> cupping his cock and beginning to stroke him, frictious pleasure sparking from every twist of his hand. </p><p>Sherlock was lost to a haze of want, aware of a second finger, then a third joining in to add to the burning pressure and stretch that left him panting, aborted thrusts into John’s hand, back onto his fingers the only real feeling he could sense, need taking over him. </p><p>After a while, John removed his hand, deeming him ready enough. His senses rushed back to him all at once, and he slipped back slightly, hand clutching at the taps of the sink to stop himself falling as he reacclimatised to the present. </p><p>“Okay?” John asked, voice soft. </p><p>“Okay,” he replied, voice breathy and impatient. “Do it.”</p><p>John hummed, letting go of Sherlock’s cock to grasp his hip, other hand spreading him apart, guiding his dick in.</p><p>In unison they moaned as John caught on his rim, sticking in the not enough lube and spit that clung to his skin. Applying more pressure, he tried again, pushing in, and in, past the resistance to slide home. Panting, they stilled for a moment. </p><p>“John,” Sherlock moaned, revelling in the feeling of fullness, the stretch of his muscles, the heady weight of the cock inside him. He shifted, and just for a moment he could feel the blunt tip brush against his prostate, and the final part of him holding on to decorum, to his own stubborn pride, snapped. “John, <em>please</em>.”<br/>
And John finally began to move. </p><p>Pleasure coursed through him at every meeting of their hips, cock bouncing, aching and heavy between his legs. He was alight with it, every nerve ending in his body seeming to burn and tingle, coalescing at the base of his spine. He felt floaty, strung-out, as though one well aimed thrust could take him apart. </p><p>“God, Sherlock look at yourself, <em>Christ</em>,” John moaned, hand clenching reflexively where it was curled round Sherlock’s hip.</p><p>Unable to deny him anything, Sherlock tore his eyes from John’s reflection in the mirror, eyes snapping to find his own. At what he found, his breath caught in his throat, because that man in the mirror couldn’t possibly be him. He looked debauched, ruined. He looked like sex.</p><p>The first thing that caught his attention was his hair, a mass of dark curled strands falling in every direction, slightly damp where they stuck against his skin. His cheeks were flushed a vivid pink, blotches of colour staining his skin all the way down to his neck where it disappeared under his open shirt collar. His lips too, red, slick and shining with spit, swollen from where they had caught between his teeth in a desperate, futile attempt to stop the deep groans from escaping them. </p><p>But it was his eyes that stood out to him in the semi darkness of the room, shining from where they caught the light coming through the small window, as if bolts of lightning resided within him. Wide, staring, his pupils deep wells of pleasure obscuring the iris, he watched the way his body jolted forward at each thrust, swaying back to meet the next in a desperate rhythm. Inexplicably, yet quite evidently his eyes began to fill with tears.</p><p>Overwhelmed, he reached out subconsciously to grasp at John’s arm, searching for reassurance. John caught him, as he always did, always would, taking Sherlock’s hand under his own as they clutched against his hip. They were slick with sweat, but neither of them cared, drawing comfort from the simple gesture of their joined hands even as they coupled together. </p><p>“So fucking beautiful,” John choked out against his neck thrusts speeding up slightly.</p><p>“Yes,” Sherlock moaned. He himself wasn’t sure if it was an agreement, a response, or simply a request for more, please, more.  A mix of both was most probable in that moment, yet by that time all his mental capabilities had broken away, leaving behind only pure sensation.</p><p>Their joined hands resting against his hip tight and clutching, his other hand pressed hard against the tap sure to leave a mark, his thighs resting against the cool porcelain of the sink, feet sliding in his shoes over the tiled floor, and then John, John, <em>John</em>. His belt pressing into the backs of Sherlock’s legs where it was stretched taunt across his thighs, hand tangled in his hair pulling him back towards him, his breath hot against the back of his neck, lips grazing skin every few thrusts, bare skin where their hips met pressing together, all just background noise in comparison to the heady obscene drag of his cock as it thrust in and out, hot and thick and full.</p><p>And just as it got to be too intense, too much to hold within him without his body combusting in on itself John shifted forward, just so, and the tip of his cock was hitting against Sherlock’s prostate with each thrust and he couldn’t have stopped himself coming if he’d tried, not even if the whole world had been collapsing around them and they were the only ones who could save it.</p><p>Waves, lightning, supernovas burst within him, eyes whiting out, heart beating to its maximum possible capacity. He was dimly aware of John coming too somewhere at the very edges of his consciousness as he succumbed to the pleasure. </p><p>By the time he had resurfaced, John had pulled out, and the hand that had rested in his hair was now stroking soothingly at his hip, soft words of praise and adoration murmured against his skin followed by even softer kisses. </p><p>“John,” Sherlock said, trying and failing to express the consuming weight of emotion in him.</p><p>“I know, sweetheart, I know,” John replied, voice low, rough, yet somehow an answer to the same feeling. </p><p>And suddenly they were laughing, high on adrenaline and sex hormones, clinging to one another in the faded light of the bathroom, floating in giddy happiness.<br/>
“John,” said Sherlock again as he turned around to face him, voice trembling through the effort to keep from laughing. “I thought we weren’t supposed to giggle at crime scenes.”</p><p>“Police station, baby. I don’t think it counts,” John smiled.</p><p>That set them off again, eyes meeting once more as they calmed together. John reached up and cupped his face with his clean hand, thumb stroking over cheekbones and skimming his lower eyelashes. Sherlock stared back in response, blinking gently against the light.</p><p>“That was insane,” said John, smiling widely, pure and unaltered happiness shining from the depths of his expression. “I love you,” he said, simply, a confession spoken a thousand times before, yet somehow rendered dearer each time.</p><p>“Oh, John. My <em>dear</em>, John. You are incredible,” Sherlock said, eyes shining with emotion that can never fully be expressed through language itself. “I love you, too.”</p><p>And he leaned in, for one more kiss.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N -  So I wrote this like two months ago and promptly deleted the entire thing by accident, then typed it out, then my computer crashed and I lost it again. I’ve only just found the mental strength to type it up again. Not beta read, so if you notice any mistakes do let me know! Hope you enjoyed it, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated, or alternatively my tumblr is codename-mycroft if you wanna chat 😊</p></blockquote></div></div>
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